That One Thing
by PoisonRogue
Summary: It's angsty, kinda depressing but it has a sorta happy ending . . . enjoy! Oneshot


**Okay then, this is just an idea I had so . . . if you like it, hate it, think anything at all about it please take the time to review - its greatly appreciated. Dedicated to all those that have ever felt lost or felt that life was wasted on them . . . enjoy!**

It was too much - to wake up everyday and having to remember where she was, what she was - having to convince herself every single morning of her own name. Not Kitty, Jean, Scott, Juggernaut, Mystique or anybody she had ever made skin-to-skin physical contact with. So many times had she thought how unfair it was that she was burdened with this 'curse', this 'condition' that kept her in solitude, always in fear of others - of what the slightest of touches could do. And the ones she had touched, despite most of them being her friends - people she could apparently trust and rely on if she ever needed help, they were the worst. In her head, they were not her friends anymore, they were the most terrible enemies she could encounter - the evil sides of their usually happy-go-lucky selves were unleashed in her mind, torturing her with insults and threats to take over her body and to diminish what little soul she had left.

Perhaps that was why she found it so hard to trust them - however sweet and compassionate they always appeared in the real world, she couldn't open up to them, allow herself to become vulnerable to them - because she had seen the darker sides of their personalities, even if they did not know it themselves - she was living with both aspects of their individual characters everyday and the force it took to make them die down, to drown out their rambunctious and violent voices in her mind took its toll physically and mentally.

She entered through the heavy doors into the grand foyer of the mansion, her home for the last four years of her life. Without a second thought she climbed the stairs, not caring if anybody saw her - her feet were taking her automatically, her body moving at its own will toward her and Kitty's room - the closest thing she could call sanctuary in a huge building, housing who new how many others - she had never bothered to count, nor asked or made the slightest attempt in finding out.

Everything was becoming a series of blurs, of obscured shapes and colors - she allowed her feet to take her into the bedroom, pushing the door shut behind her and dropping her school bag from her shoulder, letting it thump to the floor beside the door as her body moved stiffly to her bed. The contours of the room became out of focus, objects seemed to mash themselves together and suddenly a shot of pain slammed to the front of her head and she felt herself falling. She didn't cry out or even groan as the sharp anguish faded away to a dull ache - she had felt this too many times, it was like second nature to her now and it didn't matter to her that she had unconsciously curled into a fetal position on the carpet beside her bed near the wall.

She breathed heavily, but slowly and gradually her vision focused some more and she found herself looking out to the space beneath her bed - the narrow gap filled with countless odd socks she had long ago given up hope of ever finding, old magazines, pens, a powdery pink cardigan that she had no doubt belonged to Kitty. Another shock of agony raced into her skull, making her eyes close tightly as they shouted at her, screamed harshly and pushed ferociously at the doors they had been locked behind for so long, making a bid for escape.

Once again she forced them back and opened her eyes. Her gaze traveled disinterestedly once again over the objects, trying to take her mind off 'them' as they continued to thrash about mercilessly in her head - but obviously today, such a simple tactic was not going to work. Without having to think, her body pushed itself up making her wince as the blood rushed from her head and she let her limbs crawl the little distance to the wall beside her nightstand, collapsing back onto it unceremoniously as her brain continued to throb ruthlessly in her skull. Her arm drifted up to the nightstand, her hand feeling along the smooth, polished wood for the drawer knob - her hand grasped the small rounded hold and with a strong tug, the entire drawer came flying from its place, dropping to the floor beside her as a few bits and pieces jumped out on impact.

Her fingers automatically searched its contents, feeling the shape of the random objects within the wooded casing until she found what she was looking for. Lifting the object out, she dropped it beside her and slowly pulled off her gloves as the irrepressible shrieks and angry voices continued their raging tirade. One at a time, she tugged the long sleeves of her top up to her elbows and once again reached down beside her where the object she retrieved from the drawer lie on the carpet. The sensitive skin on the tips of her fingers coming into contact with the cool, strong steel of the scissors and with a firmer hold, she opened them - moving them over to the opposite arm and in a slow, deliberate action dragged the sharp blade across the underside of her arm.

Eyes scrunched tightly, water built up within them threatening to spill out if and when she would open them again - the burning sensation of the delicate skin on the underside of her forearm being sliced open shot through her - and then, everything was quiet. The torrent of abuse in her mind disappeared and all she could hear was the quieted thump of her own heartbeat. After a few moments she opened her eyes slowly once again, a single tear dropping from the corner of her eye as her gaze moved down to where her arm lie limply on her lap - a clean angry cut running across it, watery red fluid brimming to the edge before finally running down into her elbow, working its way along various other fractious, healing scars of the same kind.

Was it always going to be this way? Having to cause herself pain to make them shut-up? She hated it. Hated herself for doing it, felt so frustratingly irate that there was nothing else she could do to stop it. No matter how hard the professor had worked with her, supported her in trying to control them, to control her 'curse' - she never seemed to get anywhere, any closer to finding a solution. Perhaps it was time she just accepted that this was it for her - to forever be an outcast, a solitary figure denied of physical contact for the rest of her miserable life.

Her eyes drifted raptly over her arms, the soft pale skin destroyed by slashes of furiously rouged mutilations- her eyes began to water up as her gaze finally ended on the blued veins beneath the diaphanous skin on her wrists. Was it worth carrying on? Everything in her past and in her momentariously obvious future seemed like a definitive 'no'. Unconsciously, the blade in her hand moved to her wrist and she looked at it for the longest time as though something was holding her back, though she could not in her bleak, distressed mind think what.

She choked back a sob, her throat feeling as though it had swelled and she gulped - shutting her eyes in preparation for . . . she didn't know what. Life was shunning her and death was welcoming her, like any human being - she wanted to be accepted into open arms, even if it meant her own end. But that little nag in the back of her mind nudged her again and she cracked open her wetted eyes, her vision landing on a thin, ragged card lying face up on the carpet beside her foot where it had fallen from the dislodged drawer. The corners were bent and flimsy, the card itself a little crumpled but the Queen of Hearts looked up onto her none the less.

Without inhibitions, she remembered how she had obtained the seemingly worthless trinket - she had been a savior of sorts that day to the one of few people she had doubted she would ever want to help. Despite him abducting her, deceiving her with full intent until for one of the rare times since her 'condition' had made itself known, had done well in finding out his deceitfulness - but for some reason, she had returned to help him and in the end he was thankful to her. Giving her this card before she left - at the time, she could not decipher why he had given it to her - perhaps it was some sort of parting gift? A joke on her behalf? Or a sign of . . .

It hit her then, the realization of what that irritating little nag in the back of her head was - hope. That tiny little four-letter word was stopping her in her tracks. Suicide takes a great deal of many things - but at the forefront, depression, selfishness, hopelessness and that miniscule amount of courage to go through with it.

She had three of those, but her downfall was hope - she found that despite the near nothingness of it, she still had some and it had taken that one worthless object and that one prominent memory of feeling alive, of having faith temporarily reinstalled within her to realize that. She had no clue as to what happened to him, if anything he was probably right where she left him - or roundabouts, getting himself into more trouble most likely.

Quietly, she dropped the scissors back into the drawer and softly pulled down the sleeves of her top, the black material disguising any of the blood that had not yet dried and stood up. Picking up the drawer from the floor, she slid it back into its place in the nightstand and turned back around to the feather light card at her feet. Slowly, she bent down and picked it up - wiping the water from her eyes with her free hand and then looked back at he serene, slightly crumpled face of the Queen of Hearts. She had helped him that day, but now she comprehended that in a previously unknown way - he had helped her too.

The pound of feet sounded from downstairs, the cry of happy voices as the others returned home - she could hear the soft tread of footsteps heading toward her room and without a second thought, tucked the card into the pocket of her pants as Kitty phased through the door and walked toward her silently.

"Hey, are you okay? We missed you in school" She met the other girls azure eyes and nodded, a outwardly weak smile but inwardly strong smile gracing her lips as she grasped the card in her pocket, filling her with a new sense of 'hope' and tried not to let her voice crack as she spoke.

"Yeah, ah'm fahne Kit"


End file.
